


in this beloved place

by melistave



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Post Timeskip, but make it fashion, ferdinand is a soft m, how do you write endings, hubert's a big ole s, smut because i want it, this oneshot got way out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22165657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melistave/pseuds/melistave
Summary: I look to you, like a red rose seeking the sun no matter where it goes. I long to stay, where the light dwells to guard against the cold that I know so well.  // just a uselessly smutty ferbert one shot.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	in this beloved place

In Garreg Mach monastery, there were a set of statues; four burnished and brilliant visages that each depicted a saint. Ferdinand could remember a certain professor cleaning them incessantly in the down time between lectures and missions five years ago. A professor whom he believed dead, until just a few hours ago. 

Each student had arrived at the monastery in turn that day, assessing the damage, the cratered buildings left untouched in the years since they had clashed in battle on the fields below. The nave and transept, body and mind of the church, were the hardest to stand in. Once a resplendent hall filled with song and light, it now hung heavy in shadow despite the massive hole in the ceiling. At night, starlight trickled through to the sanctuary floor, illuminating clouds of swirling dust like snow falling from the sky.

Ferdinand moved slowly through the broken doors, passing damaged pews, pausing at one of the fractured columns nearby. He remembered spending weekends draped over those pews, arguing at length with Lorenz or Dimitri about some long-forgotten academic qualm. He remembered the knuckle-wrapping the professor gave him when he would glare at Edelgard for showing up late to the choir festival, Hubert always in tow. He remembered dropping off notes with the confessor, delicately rehearsed admissions that he knew were read but never publicized.

Rubble made it difficult for him to walk much farther, but he knew what was there without having to see it. The way the floor used to shine after Cyril would wax it, Rhea gleaming as she stood there in early morning reflection. He always regretted that war had meant destroying this place; destroying those wonderfully peaceful memories. 

Stepping carefully through the stone carnage, he knew he was avoiding one memory in particular. His eyes flickered to the set of doors at the right of the transept, still somewhat intact. He knew well what lay beyond.

Four statues, whose gazes he had never been able to forget--

\-- _and a fifth statue, a specter of granite and ice, whose yellow gaze left not a memory, but rather a physical impression on his heart_.

Standing in front of those doors, the statues of Cethleann, Cichol, Indech, and Macuil were visibly tarnished. Five years of oxidation and exposure had worn the careful sheen the professor had maintained on them. Ferdinand could still remember entering the room for the first time, when he was seventeen--

\-- _one hand, larger than expected, gentler than expected, cradling his hip. The other wound in his hair, pulling back his head, leaving the lines of his jaw and neck exposed._

Blinking, Ferdinand realized he had stepped inside, pulled in by some unseen force. He tried not to dwell on why he felt warm. Clearing his throat, he moved some debris from the ground in front of Cichol’s statue. Ferdinand’s favorite, the progenitor of his own crest. Five years ago, he had come to see the statue after discovering the professor had taken over maintaining them from the wizened priest. It had been a cool fall evening, and the room had been filled with other students gaping at the statues’ newfound glimmer. 

Helplessly, his eyes drifted towards the space between Cichol’s statue and Cethleann’s. He desperately tried not to dwell on the memory he knew waited for him there--

\-- _he felt small, straddling Hubert’s lap. The other man had almost three years on him, not to mention half a foot in height. The mage’s hands had found their way into Ferdinand’s uniform, eating up the distance between his waist and shoulders. Cool winter air snaked up along his spine, causing him to jerk closer to the warm body in front of him._

Everyone had thought Hubert a cold man. But Ferdinand remembered him differently.

God, he remembered! He didn’t know why he had tried to forget. The memory was like a parasite, swiftly invading every part of him, a black, reckless magic twisting up his heart and soul. 

Rubbing his knuckles, he admitted that Edelgard’s tardiness to festivals had never truly bothered him. He had only ever regretted that in doing so, she kept Hubert away. The morose pair would always sit in the back, but Ferdinand could always tell by the burning on the back of his neck where those wheat-colored eyes were looking. He could feel those eyes as surely as he could feel the granite of the pedestal in front of him. He braced a hand against the stone, begging the aether to let him experience that stinging heat once more. The kind that made his shoulders itch and his chest feel tight. 

By Seiros, he’d give anything to go back to a time where he didn’t have bigger things to worry about than attending his lectures and being in love. It had been a heartbreaking relief after the battle ended that day five years ago, when Hubert followed Edelgard back to Enbarr, and Ferdinand had diverted to the seat of the Aegir dukedom to take up his role in the territories there. Heartbreaking, because he would be alone. Relief, because he wouldn’t have to scan the battlefield for signs of his fallen classmates again.

Standing in the place where he had once (and only once) made love to another man, Ferdinand wondered if he had the strength to endure it again. They had been called back to the frontlines, together, along with the rest of their former class. His heart had skipped erratically at the memory of seeing Hubert emerge from the dark night, stepping into the fight beside his empress. It had been five years since Ferdinand had seen him in person.

He’d finally cut his hair. 

His eyes hadn’t changed, though.

In the ruins of the town beneath the monastery, Hubert had been nigh impossible to identify amongst the shadow. While Edelgard stood out like a blazing fire on the hillside, her retainer was as dark as char, a reminder of the wreckage the Empire wrought. Ferdinand had recognized him by way of sheer practice, and the purple-white glint of his magic. 

Hubert had always been a conservative, graceful fighter, and an even more skilled tactician, but he had still managed to grow exponentially in the time they had been separated. He had never lacked for height, but he was broader than he had been as a student; Ferdinand could tell the war effort had been demanding on both his mind and body. Briefly, he wondered if Hubert had made any note of him across the battlefield. Did he remember what they had shared in this place, years ago? 

_Ferdinand gasped softly as Hubert’s mouth sank into the soft skin below his ear. The bite was liable to leave a mark, sharp teeth creating a sensation of intensely pleasurable pain. The nobleman shakily took hold of the mage’s head, demanding unlearned kisses. He could feel Hubert’s grin beneath his lips, dissonant clacking as their teeth collided._

He sat down, back pressed to the freezing stone. It was midwinter in Fodlan, and the monastery had lost all its warmth. Still, sitting there, he didn’t feel cold. Phantom palms rubbed against his thighs, working at the belt of his trousers. Long, surprisingly strong fingers danced teasingly over his waist, playing with the idea of moving lower. 

Two years ago, Ferdinand had overheard one of his advisers discussing the Vampire of Vestra with another colleague. It had taken the duke a moment to realize they meant Hubert. They talked about him like he was some kind of monster, lurking in the shadows, preying on any who might threaten Edelgard.

They weren’t wrong, of course. Hubert would annihilate anything that stood between Edelgard and her goals. His own father hadn’t been safe from his determination. But behind that monster was still just a man; one who had difficulty sleeping, and thus drank excessive amounts of coffee. One who had an intense fear of heights, but also a longing to fly. Hubert was a monster by choice, but parts of his native humanity clung to him like shed on a snake. 

Ferdinand collected those pieces as they fell, treasuring them intensely. As prime minister, he would need to be there for their empress when Hubert could not be. Those fragmented pieces of personality, forcefully cast off, would remind Ferdinand why he had the luxury of voicing his disagreements with Edelgard. Because at the end of the day, someone else would make the decision neither he nor Edelgard could stomach. Hubert would make the choices they could not afford to. He would take on the darkness that they could not carry.

In exchange, it seemed a pittance for Ferdinand to carry those broken, forgotten pieces around, in hopes that one day the vampire might cut his fangs and wish for them back. If he ever wished to step out of the night he cloaked himself in, Ferdinand would be there, a small source of light to guide him home.

  
  


Hubert hadn’t taken his eyes off of Ferdinand since he had first seen him on the battlefield earlier that day. The Duke of Aegir had arrived shortly after he and Edelgard, his gleaming orange hair like a noisome beacon in the distance. He had shamelessly and loudly pranced through the fight, declaring his joy at seeing the professor alive and well. All the subtleness of a steaming tea kettle, as always.

Their greetings had been rushed, as there was much else to think about. With the professor now amongst them, Edelgard had turned her focus to planning for the fight ahead. They had promptly decided to station their forces in the ruins of Garreg Mach. In the midst of the talks, all his former classmates had found ways to occupy themselves in preparation for the long night ahead. It seemed odd to be back, to call the monastery home once again, after the destruction they had personally inflicted on it.

Hubert, Ferdinand, and Edelgard had remained with the professor the longest. Their discussions had been purely strategic, with no room for sentimentality or nostalgia. As the night waned into early morning, Edelgard had been the one to end the conversation, citing the professor was likely tired after having been missing for half a decade.

He wasn’t surprised when, instead of heading back to his room, Ferdinand had chosen to walk the halls. The two had always been annoyingly in sync in that respect. Hubert decided there could be no harm in tailing the other man. He was hard to ignore, after all.

He must not have cut his hair for years for it to be so long now.

Silently, Hubert had watched Ferdinand wander in and out of classrooms, through the mess hall, up through the grand hall and over the bridge connecting the academy to the church beyond. He had watched as Ferdinand slowly examined the pews, shifting odd bits of rubble with the toe of his boot. He wondered if Ferdinand remembered that night--

Ah, of course he did. Hubert suppressed a smirk as that magnificent head inevitably turned to the room containing the saint statues. Even in profile, Ferdinand’s expression looked pained. During their time at the academy, the dark mage had become obsessed with drawing out that expression. His favorite was when he would delay Edelgard from returning to the choir festivals. Ferdinand would always be in the front pew, seething. Eventually, after a stern knuckle-wrapping from the professor, he would turn back to the choir. But for the remainder of the festival, Hubert delighted in watching that brilliant copper head twist and fidget. When the professor would turn away, he would look back at them, his lovely golden eyes seeking out Hubert’s own.

There something puppy-like about him. Edelgard found his optimism tiring, but her vassal had long found it an immense source of amusement.

He watched as Ferdinand entered the statue room, and his smirk faded. That amusement had turned out to be a double-edged sword, in the end.

_It had felt like holding light itself; warm, soft, and elusive. Ferdinand squirmed defiantly under his guidance, refusing to cede total control. His hands, roughened from years practicing with a lance, dug into the muscles of Hubert’s shoulders. A consummate horse-rider, his thighs were heavy with muscle, a delectable weight bearing down into Hubert’s pelvis. They were both hard, bucking artlessly as their kisses grew progressively more and more sloppy. Ferdinand’s mouth practically hung open, harsh, warm breaths fanning the mage’s jaw._

_They were in their formal attire. It was the night of the anniversary ball, and half of the students had elected to mill around the Goddess Tower while the other half continued to dance the night away. Hubert had felt unexpectedly exhausted after watching Ferdinand dance with twenty or so girls._

_He had ended up there, in the empty church sanctuary, hidden away in the room containing the newly polished saint statues. Staring up at Cichol, he considered praying, just once. Just for one small thing:_

_Him._

Hubert wasn’t so immune as to not feel his heart clench as he silently approached the door to that memory-filled room. He stood just before the entryway, cloaked in one of the many shadows that haunted the sanctuary. He could see Ferdinand inside, hand trailing over the statue of Cichol, his head slowly turning to the empty space to its left.

He watched the duke, still dressed in his finery, turn to sit on the dirty, dust-covered floor. Moonlight streaming down from cracks in the ceiling drew attention to perfect, smooth skin. His eyelashes, normally burnished gold, looked white as the moon leeched all his color away. For just a moment, he was beautifully still, all his brightness subdued under the veil of night. Just another statue among the four saints.

For perhaps the only time in his entire life, Hubert wished it could be a bright, sunshiny day. Ferdinand was not this pale, still specter; he was radiant, from his golden highlights to his warm, sun-tanned skin. He thrived in the light. 

It should be Hubert, sitting solemnly against that ice-cold wall, not him.

He was about to emerge and say as much, when Ferdinand did something to freeze him in place: shamefacedly, he pulled his jacket open, and unbuckled his trousers, and took himself in hand. He jerked against his own touch, face twisting almost painfully. Slowly, with one hand covering his mouth, Ferdinand began to pleasure himself in that same spot they had once held each other. Small sounds escaped through his fingers, little pants and sighs as he increased his rhythm incrementally. 

It was a heady sight for the mage, who could feel color flooding his cheeks, warming his ears and neck. He remembered how that man had felt in his arms that night, all those years ago. Knew how hot his skin felt as he reached his climax. Knew how he keened, how his eyes teared up from that painful, teasing pleasure. 

_Why Ferdinand had entered the room at that precise moment, Hubert would likely never know. He had breathed out a half prayer, visions of tortured golden eyes haunting him as he had leaned forward to press his lips against Cichol’s stone boot. It was as close as he could come to prostrating himself in worship._

_Though he had acted calm, Hubert had felt like imploding. As if it were all planned, he turned to see Ferdinand’s shocked expression, those beautiful eyes wide with confusion, and beckoned him closer._

_He knew Ferdinand had thought of him, but how much? Was his infatuation just a moment of erstwhile youth, or did he have a concept of how brightly he shown in Hubert’s darkness? Could he know what he meant to him?_

_Though he hesitated, Ferdinand came. He didn’t fight when Hubert pulled him closer. Between kisses, he asked, “Why did you leave the ball?”_

_“I got tired of watching you enjoy yourself so much.” Hubert's jealousy was venom, harsh and potent._

_Ferdinand’s eyes softened, and he smiled. “You were watching me, then?”_

_“You’re hard to ignore.”_

_“Did you wish to dance with me, Hubert?”_

_“Not in the slightest.” He could still feel that smile beneath his lips as he back himself up against the wall and dragged Ferdinand down with him._

He couldn’t bear to watch, but couldn’t move. Paralyzed, Hubert helplessly watched as the other man’s head lolled back against the stone, hand still suppressing the small cries he couldn’t help as his hand moved furiously up and down his shaft. Sinking further down the stone wall, Ferdinand made a frustrated noise and uncovered his mouth. Biting his lips closed, he coated his fingers in his own precum before desperately forcing his hand deep into his trousers. Hubert could see his fingers pressing against the fabric, fingering a place he oft dreamed about, even after five long years. 

Ferdinand’s chest shuddered against a cry, his movements more frantic. Hubert’s heart hammered in his chest, the placard of his trousers tight from his own need. He watched, burning the image of Ferdinand fingering himself into his mind. 

The duke’s breathing was harsh and loud, teeth digging into upper and lower lip, desperate to keep quiet. Hubert could think of no need more urgent than to press his mouth against those bite-swollen lips and swallow those cries. They belonged to him, after all. 

They were meant for him.

Finally, with a moan too base and necessary to be suppressed, Ferdinand bucked forward, ejaculating into his own palm. He slumped back against the wall, half laying there, face contorted with anger and longing. Hand still sticky and wet, he slammed it against the floor, as if enraged by what he had just done.

It was all Hubert needed; those tortured eyes, that painful sneer. It was a face Ferdinand had always reserved for him, when they fought over how best to counsel Edelgard, when they disagreed on how to proceed in battle. When Hubert had entered him for the first and only time in that very spot, and thought to pull out just to save him the pain. Ferdinand had silenced any doubts in him with that expression.

He said no words, and stepped through the doorway.

  
  


There were few things so traumatic as being discovered masturbating to the memory of a colleague. Hubert made no effort to hide the sound of his footfalls, and Ferdinand’s eyes snapped open, recognition immediate. He felt simultaneously overheated and frozen, his hands shaking as he hastily shoved himself back into his pants and attempted to buckle his belt.

Hubert would no doubt scold him for doing something so shameful in such a place; there was a war being waged, they had no time for such fancy. They weren’t students any more. Lust was dangerous. He knew this, yet--

“Ferdinand. What are you doing?”

He was still in the process of righting himself, and couldn’t look Hubert in the eye. “It’s nothing to do with you, I just-- I had a long journey from Aegir, and after the fight, I was feeling pent up, and--”

“I hear only excuses. Is that all you’re good for now?”

Fueled by embarrassment, Ferdinand finally looked up, an angry set-down dying on his tongue as he realized Hubert was loosening the placard in front of his trousers. Golden eyes darted upwards to meet yellow ones, tension stirring in the space between. 

“Come, Ferdinand. I find I’m feeling pent up, too.”  
  
“We shouldn't, I mean--”

“Ferdinand. I wasn’t asking.”

Any resolve he might have had vanished. Hubert said his name in the same way one might call on a beloved pet; he knew who was master here. Standing, his clothes only half buttoned, Ferdinand crossed the space between them, his hands reaching for Hubert’s waist. The mage stood steady, seemingly unaffected, hands taking up a post behind his back. Those wheat yellow eyes seemed to meander, as if the trembling man before him was of little interest.

Frowning deeply, Ferdinand recognized this for the challenge it was. He dropped to his knees, pulling roughly at the waistband of Hubert’s pants, jerking them down. The mage's cock sprang forward, its stiffness betraying his nonchalance for what it was: a cruel act, designed to draw out Ferdinand’s anger. Still, he couldn’t bear not having those hands on him. Despite knowing what Hubert was doing, he was helpless to fight it.

Greedily, he trailed kisses from Hubert’s hip bone to his inner thigh, pausing to bury his nose and mouth into the coarse black curls at the base of his shaft. He dragged his teeth lightly along the soft skin there, practically alabaster in the moonlight. Nipping at the skin of his thigh produced the desired effect: Hubert’s hand, burying itself in Ferdinand’s hair, jerking it backwards.

“Play nicely.” Hubert said, his voice disguising certain strain.

Placing his other hand under Ferdinand’s chin, he guided the other man’s mouth to the tip of his penis. Warm breath fanned down the length of him, causing him to shiver. He pulled that beautiful head of copper waves closer, begging entrance between those soft, mobile lips. When it was granted, Hubert could feel himself bending forward, his body unable to remain aloof to the hot, slippery sensations surrounding him.

With his hands buried in the duke’s hair, Hubert guided his head slowly at first, up and down his length. Ferdinand’s hands found occupation elsewhere, one rubbing the base of the shaft and the other tugging impatiently at Hubert’s wrist. Those brilliant eyes glared upward: faster, they commanded. But Hubert maintained a rigid, slow pace, relishing in the sheer heat of the duke's mouth. As the head of Hubert's cock bumped up against the back of his throat, Ferdinand swallowed, causing the mage to reflexively buck. Around him, Ferdinand grinned and swallowed again, his throat muscles contracting tightly. 

Pulling out, Hubert used the chilly night air to cool both his cock and his mind. He rubbed the damp appendage against the duke’s cheek, shifting one hand from his hair to cradle his jaw. 

“Do you know what happens next?”

Ferdinand used one hand to massage Hubert’s length, pressing his mouth against the base. His eyes darted up, now molten in their heat. He refused to let go as Hubert attempted to pull away, closing his mouth around the head of the mage's penis once again.

“I said,” Hubert gripped Ferdinand’s hair tightly, and pulled hard, forcing him to release, “play nicely.”

Stepping around the dukes prone figure, not releasing the tight hold he had on that leonine mane of hair, Hubert began to move to the space between Cichol and Cethleann’s statues. With a sharp tug on his hair, Ferdinand was forced to stand, his face a masque of frustration. Like a child who had had their favorite toy stolen from them.

Ferdinand allowed himself to be maneuvered so he stood with his back to the wall, the freezing stone a stark contrast to how hot he felt. Groping wildly, he dragged the taller mage against him, leaning up to press their mouths together. Their teeth collided as the two simultaneously elected to deepen the kiss, Hubert’s hands easily snaking down the loosened backside of Ferdinand’s trousers to massage his bottom. Hungrily, the mage kneaded the firm flesh, dense with muscle from years spent on horse back. 

Even with the backdrop of a cold winter’s night, surrounded by death, they felt nothing but fiery heat.

Those long, graceful fingers groped Ferdinand’s rear mercilessly, causing the duke to cry out. As he had wished to earlier, Hubert greedily consumed those cries, swallowing each one like a divine offering. He found Ferdinand’s entrance, intentionally stroking the skin just above it, beside it, beneath it, until the other man was positively trembling with need. 

“Hubert, please--” Before he could finish, Hubert pressed one finger gently against his opening, causing Ferdinand to moan plaintively. 

“Yes? Do you need something? I won’t know if you don’t tell me.”

“You _do_ know, you villain, and you will give it to me, or else I will take it.” Ferdinand hissed, grinding back on Hubert’s finger. 

“Then I suggest you do so.” Hubert’s head was swimming, ecstasy nearly overtaking him as he pulled away. He had barely managed to take a step back when Ferdinand lunged forward, taking them both to the ground. Though shorter by a couple inches, Ferdinand was heavier by way of sheer muscle, and Hubert could feel the wind leave his body for a moment as they fell onto the stone below. Above him, Ferdinand had already tugged his trousers down around his thighs, and was angling himself above the mage. All Hubert could do was watch as the duke took him in hand and guided him home.

There was a moment, as Ferdinand was pressing down onto his cock, face contorted in that delightful mixture of pain and pleasure, where Hubert wondered _why_. Why had such a radiant creature chosen him? To dream about? To yearn for? Most people were terrified of him, but Ferdinand had never wavered before him, never expressed any fear or hesitation in his thoughts or opinions. Even if it put him as ends with Hubert or Edelgard, Ferdinand couldn’t be cowed. 

And yet here they were, surrendering themselves to one another, a dangerous and foolhardy sort of cataclysm that almost certainly would destroy them. Tomorrow, they would plan for battle with the Church of Seiros, the namesake of the sanctuary they now defiled with their baser needs. They would go to war, and probably die for it. He would almost call their love-making an act of deliberate sin, if only it didn’t feel so holy.

Hips slammed into one another with bruising force, and as Hubert surged upward, he reached out to pull Ferdinand down, entombing himself in a waterfall of burnished copper waves. One hand moved to grip Ferdinand’s bottom, the other gripping his shaft. The duke cried out in surprise, his ass clenching and his head lolling in ecstasy. There was nothing gentle about their coming together; in the morning, Hubert would be bruised and Ferdinand would be almost unable to walk, but the two seemed numb to this eventuality. All they could focus on was the tightening in their lower bellies as their mutual climax approached.

Increasing his pace, Hubert thrust blindly against the soreness in his thighs and back, his calm from earlier utterly destroyed. Ferdinand's hips trembled as he tried to maintain pace, but it was clear that he wasn't going to hold out much longer. Palming Ferdinand's ass, he lifted his hand away for just a moment, cool air rushing to coat the sweat-slick skin. It made it all the more sensitive for when Hubert inevitably slapped it, the sound of his palm connecting ringing throughout the small room. Ferdinand choked out a sob, his immediate reaction to tense up, making Hubert moan contently beneath him.

Hubert continued to work Ferdinand's shaft as the man on top panted helplessly above him, his other hand massaging the reddened flesh of Ferdinand's backside. He was at his limit, his hips jerking uncontrollably just as the duke let out a long, weeping moan, his own climax spilling onto Hubert's semi-exposed stomach.

Exhausted, Ferdinand slumped forward, hands burying themselves under Hubert's shirt, seeking the sex-warmed skin. Nuzzling those orange-red tress, Hubert pulled his hand out from between them so he could rub his lover’s back. They lay there like that for just a moment, deliciously conscious of their hips cradling one another, their hands trailing over each other's skin, their breath mingling into one.

“Would you, uh,” Ferdinand began to lift himself up, face visibly red even in the moonlight, “like to have a cup of coffee? Er, I brought some with me.”

“What a coincidence,” Hubert said with a guileless grin. “I brought tea.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed this entirely unnecessary and smutty reunion fic!! if there's any interest, i may turn this into an anthology of m/m and f/f three houses oneshots. btw be gentle it's my first fic on a03 uwu


End file.
